Dolce Far Niente
by Numantina
Summary: 'Sweet Idleness.' Another D/H/Hr fic from yours truly. It's July, 1996; For two years, Draco has kept a delicious little secret all to himself. That was until Lucius found out... But who knew the secret would be a girl?
1. Default Chapter

[Disclaimer:] Sadly, the characters and most of the setting belong to Joanne Kathleen Rowling. I don't own anything except my underwear and this kickass laptop. 

[Disclaimer:] Sadly, the characters and most of the setting belong to Joanne Kathleen Rowling. I don't own anything except this plot, which I think isn't something to be proud of anyway.

A/N: I wrote this fic about five months ago, when my computer didn't yet know how to upload things. Remmirath, the closest thing I have to a beta-reader, told me to put it now up because she 'liked it' and 'wondered what happened to it'. So I edited it just a bit, changed the title, changed some names… But it's not too thorough, so don't you be expecting much. ~ Does anyone know the banishing charm? I can't check right now, my GoF isn't within reach. And I know some stuff I put in doesn't match with the stuff in Quidditch through the Ages, but let it go, I don't know where that book is right now. Warning: Child abuse alert. I'm not asking you to review either! 

Dolce Far Niente 

Chapter One: To the Death

Blood. There was no mistaking its metallic taste, its insipid smell. It crept down his face, entered his mouth, trickled down his chin to the cold, marble floor of Malfoy Manor. 

Draco staggered backwards from Lucius Malfoy, whose arm was extended after giving his son a forceful blow. The younger clutched his own face and felt the warm, sticky liquid under his cold white fingers. 

'Insolent boy,' Lucius snarled. He strode towards his son, who was still looking astonished, and gave him another blow to the face. The boy fell to the floor, his hand still on his chin. 

'Father, please, no..' he pleaded. He inwardly cursed himself for his weakness, but he was well aware that there was more than his safety at stake here. 

'Please what, my _dear son?' Lucius sneered mockingly. 'That I forgive you?' He said the words with such nastiness, such vehemence, that Draco flinched. _

'N-no, father,..' he said, apprehensively.

'What then, boy?' Lucius strode, with a menacing aura, to his granite fireplace and faced his son, with his sharp features, which would have been rather handsome, illuminated in the dim firelight.

'That you let Caitlin live.' Draco stood up with quiet resolve, determined not to show any more vulnerability than was necessary. 

'_Caitlin?' his father sneered once more. 'The little bitch? You speak of her so lovingly that it surprises me that you don't call each other "love muffin".' If it were not for the tenseness of the situation Draco would have taken notice and laughed at his father's language. Lucius took a fistful of glittering powder from a bottle green jar on the mantelpiece and threw it into the flames._

As expected, a revolving figure appeared in the grate. A girl with long brown hair. Caitlin. 

It took a second or two before Draco could get her face into focus, as the mild concussion he suffered muddled his vision a little. Even in such misery, even with pearl tears dripping down her ashen face onto her tattered blue apron, even with hair in great disarray, Draco still thought her beautiful. Her hazel eyes were huge with anticipated fear, her hands wringing her pinstripe pinafore in all nervousness. Draco laughed bitterly, inwardly. How could she not be nervous? She had been caught, a slave, with the son of the richest man in Great Britain. Seeing the look of loathing Lucius gave her, she might as well have burned in the flames. 

'You called, Sir?' she squeaked. Draco flinched at her voice, the knowledge of what was most likely going to happen making him shudder. 

'Step out, girl,' Lucius spat. Caitlin obeyed with her eyes on the floor, looking like her very moves were causing her pain. Draco automatically stepped towards her, but Lucius stopped him with an outstretched arm. 

'I want to hear what this wretch has to say.'

'Stop it, father,' Draco croaked. His voice came out, taut, in a gasp.

'Silence!' roared Lucius, the volume of his voice ten times louder than Draco's little pant. He turned to Caitlin, disgust clear in his piqued posture. 'Explain. Say what you must.' 

'And you will kill me afterwards?' Caitlin dropped her hands, losing her plea and turning cold. Lucius only smiled. 'If so, I have nothing to say.' She spread her snake-bitten arms. 'Kill me.'

'No!' Draco ran for her, ducking under his father's arm despite his father's yells. He embraced her, took in every last bit of her, the translucent quality of her skin, her hair that smelled of lavender, the warmth of her body, the steadiness of her pulse. He wanted desperately to imprint these memories in his mind, knowing he would never get another chance.

'Good-bye,' he murmured in her ear, the corner of his eyes stinging. A diminutive sob escaped Caitlin's throat, and she, too, whispered her good-bye.

'Invenio!' came a banishing spell, breaking Draco and Caitlin apart. The boy was instantly thrown against the wall and he fell to the flagstones. Then everything turned black.

***

When Draco came to, he was still situated on the marble floor of his father's study, on the same position he had passed out in. He got slowly and groggily to his feet, blinking to help focus. 

The first thing he saw nearly made him scream. Caitlin lay on the floor, paler than he had ever seen her. Her pinafore lay in folds around her slender, snake-bitten frame. Ignoring the blood that was trickling down the side of his face and the intense pain that was starting to worsen in his head, he rushed to Caitlin's side, taking her beautiful head in his lap. _Caitlin. Caitlin, please be alive. _

He checked her pulse by instinct. There was none, of course. What had he suspected? He thought bitterly. His father wouldn't allow that. Caitlin was dead. 

He stayed still for a few seconds, his muscles still aching from the blows he'd suffered, not wanting to move, and not wanting to feel the bitter reality sink in. This was a nightmare, it just had to be. Any minute he would wake up in Caitlin's arms like he had so many summers before. The corners of his eyes began again to sting as he watched her lifeless features and caressed her pale skin, sorry that she was not there to feel it. Never again would he see her smile, never again would he feel her warm caress, never again would she kiss him and hold him with the love no one had ever bothered to bestow upon poor Draco Malfoy before. His delicious little secret for two years was gone forever. 

He started crying like he had never before. In the back of his mind he realised he hadn't cried for as long as he could remember, and it was rather a novel experience, one he wasn't very much fond of enduring. His moans echoed through the halls of Malfoy Manor, most probably waking the House-elves, but he didn't care. It was a horrid, almost inhuman sound. Draco's tears trickled down his cheek onto her dead, ashen face, with him begging her to live... Unaware his father was there, smiling grimly, in the background. 

***

'Happy Birthday!' 

Harry Potter woke up with a start, and found himself staring into the face of his best friend, Hermione Granger. His eyes widened in astonishment and he heard himself yell:

'Wha -- what are you doing here?!'

They were in Number Four, Privet Drive, in Harry's bedroom. Harry instantly looked down his body to see if he was decent. He was.

'You're lucky I don't sleep naked,' he muttered, reaching for his black-rimmed glasses on the night table. Hermione laughed. She was sitting on the side of his bed, looking especially tickled.

'Shh. Your aunt and uncle will hear us,' she said. 

Harry looked over Hermione's looming shoulder and saw Fred and George Weasley waving at him from near the window. Their little brother, Ron, was heaving Hedwig's, Harry's owl, cage out the window into the trunk of a turquoise Ford Anglia, identical to the one currently running wild in the Hogwarts Forbidden Forest. Harry grinned and got up, unable to stifle a yawn. 'How did you guys get here? And where'd you get the car?'

'Fudge gave Dad a promotion. The first thing he thought to buy was a car so he could go tinkering with one again,' Fred offered, wincing slightly at the weight of Harry's things. 

Harry smiled and shifted his gaze to Hermione, who was looking at him with a crooked grin on her face and holding something behind her back. 'What?'

Hermione looked slightly hurt at first, but resumed her happy expression and held out a package wrapped in red and gold. Harry smiled at her, then took it. He ripped through the paper and found himself holding a book called _Quidditch at Hogwarts. He flipped it open and saw hundreds of wizard pictures of people in broomsticks. _

Hermione took the leather-bound book (a/n: at least the book is wearing leather, the DWL fans will be totally disappointed) and turned to the last few pages. 'You're in here, you know,' she said.

'What?' 

'It was published a decade or two ago, but the books were charmed to be updated magically.' She shoved the book in his hand, and Harry glimpsed a picture of himself, thirteen years old, in scarlet Quidditch robes ad being lifted onto the shoulders of a huge crowd. It was rather fortunate the pictures didn't' have sounds, or else the room would have been filled with screams and cheers from the said event. Harry grinned at Hermione. 'Thanks.'

'You're welcome.' Hermione put her arms around Harry's waist and squeezed. Harry returned her embrace. 

'Hey,' came Ron's voice from near the window, 'are you done fondling each other over there?' His voice was carefully kept even, and he was smiling a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Fred and George laughed, and Harry and Hermione let go of each other awkwardly. Each stepped into the Ford Anglia, then flew, invisible, of course, to Ottery St., Catchpole. 

* * *

'Mr. Malfoy?'

His eyes fluttered open. He hadn't really been sleeping, just trying to see if insomnia would kill him. It was a rather feeble attempt. Draco got unenthusiastically to his feet to open the large oak doors of his bedroom, his head feeling heavy, his steps groggy. The first thing he saw made his jaw drop to his feet.

Vanessa.

The old woman reminded Draco agonisingly of Caitlin, for they resembled each other in appearance greatly indeed. The same chestnut hair, the same hazel eyes, only Vanessa's held a more lively intelligence than her daughter's, which were decidedly more innocent. For a moment Draco wondered if she were only here to cause him more pain, as she was sure to know how seeing Caitlin's mum could bring back memories. 

'What're you doing here?' Human servants never came to serve them, only House-Elves. Draco had once heard Lucius say that these Squibs (which Caitlin and her family were) were even lower than the elves, a statement Draco was doubtless forbidden to protest to. 

'You forget, _Master Malfoy,' the woman stepped into his bedroom carrying a large silver tray. 'I am here to serve you.'_

Draco scowled at her insolent tone and let out a long exasperated breath, sounding almost like a growl. Punishment; that was what this was. 'Look, I'm sorry, Vanessa,' he said in a less sincere way than he had intended. Draco closed the doors and went over to Vanessa, who was setting the tray on Draco's credenza. Sparks flew from her eyes, and Draco recoiled. 

'Sorry about what? That my daughter was killed, was _murdered, for something you did?' Draco tried to banish from his head the unsettling fact that this was the way Lucius had mocked him, what, a day, a night ago? He had lost his sense of time, apparently._

'I did not have Caitlin killed!' Draco shouted. He felt his hands ball themselves into fists, and he took a calming breath, trying to control the volume of his voice. 'How could I? I loved her. And she loved me.' Draco paused, his voice becoming painfully hoarse, and his expression clouded. 'Or maybe it was my fault. I shouldn't have..' he trailed off lamely, staring at his shoes. The expression on Vanessa's face softened considerably, though her grudge appeared not fully erased from her eyes.

'I know it wasn't your fault. I'm sorry. Please don't blame yourself.' Her voice was barely a whisper. 'I guess I needed someone to blame. I only wished things had been different.' Vanessa then shoved a hand into her apron's pockets, took out something she held tightly, almost protectively, in her gnarled fist, then shoved it discreetly in Draco's hand. 

'Keep it,' she said shortly. 

Draco opened his palm to see a small silver cross. Caitlin's small silver cross. It looked more beautiful than it had ever, the inscription _Ad Infinitum glittering in the back. Unlike the crosses most Christian women wore, this one had no dying figure sculpted upon it, just a shine that hurt your eyes when it reflected the blinding light of the sun. 'Why are you giving this to me? And how did you get it?'_

Vanessa sat down at the foot of Draco's bed. She looked tired, like she wanted to fall asleep right then and there. And never wake up. 'When your father asked me to clean up a certain _mess in his study, I took it off Caitlin's neck.' The woman sighed bitterly, most likely pondering if Lucius had made her tidy up the 'mess' just to see if she would break down. 'And I knew she loved you. Is that enough reason?'_

'Of course.' Draco sadly put the cross, which hung on charmed, unbreakable black cord, around his neck and hid it in his high velvet collar. Lucius would surely take it away if he saw it, deeming it to be 'rubbish'. The metal felt cold against his skin, making his chest tingle underneath the heavy fabric. 'Thank you.' 

Vanessa's lower lip trembled, and she got up to put her arms around Draco. Draco returned her embrace, feeling an odd sense of comfort enveloping him like Vanessa's frail arms. 

'I had better go,' said Vanessa, releasing the sixteen-year old gently. Draco reluctantly did the same. 'If I'm not careful, your father will kill us both.' There was humor behind the line, but the woman's eyes glittered mournfully as she hurried herself out the door. 

Draco locked the door after her, then hurled himself on the bed and started sobbing like a child who had lost his favourite toy, only worse. So, so much worse.

* * *

'Do your parents know we're flying the car?'

Fred grinned evilly, and said, over his shoulder, 'Yeah. You know, they wanted to send the Dursleys some notice, but after what happened with the Ton-Tongue Toffee, it's unlikely we'd ever be allowed there again.' The twins, Harry, and Ron laughed. It was rather nice to be laughing again, Harry thought. He almost wasn't allowed even a grin on Number four.

They were still in the flying Ford Anglia, on the way to the Weasleys' Burrow. Harry, Ron, Fred and George were wide-awake and laughing, with the latter two driving the car. Hermione had fallen asleep, head on Harry's shoulder, mouth partially open, chest rising and falling w. 

Harry looked out the car window. Up here it was a brilliant view of the sunrise -- varying shades of pink, gold and purple mixed in the sky to form a beautiful palette of colours, with the sun glittering in the horizon. The car zoomed over towns and flew over chimneys, and Hermione slept on through Ron and Harry's conversation.

'Yep, we're here,' said Ron, looking out the window at the Burrow, the crooked chimneys of which visible from there. 

'Already?' asked Harry. Ron smirked.

'Don't worry, Harry. Hermione will have plenty of time to sleep on your shoulder this summer.' 

Harry turned red, while Hermione woke up. (The twins mercifully hadn't heard Ron's crack.) She stretched her arms -- at least, stretched as much as she could manage in the cramped confines of the car. 'Great, we're here!' she said, grinning widely. Harry looked away. 

Sure enough, the convivial sight of the Burrow could be seen in the distance. The car slid easily into the garage, where tall Mr. Weasley and plump Mrs. Weasley were stifling waves, as the neighbours would have thought it peculiar to see them waving at thin air. When the garage door was closed, Fred, George, Ron, Harry and Hermione stepped out and greeted them. Mrs. Weasley rushed to Harry first and gave him a tight hug and a peck on the cheek. 

'Hello, Harry dear -- and Happy Birthday. We hope you didn't mind our taking you in for now?' said Mrs. Weasley, grinning. Harry smiled at her.

'How could I? It was torture down there at the Dursleys, they'd just had a barbecue last night and were to make me clean up the mess their pig neighbours made in the backyard…' Harry stopped, knowing he needn't say any of this. He turned to Mr. Weasley. 'Hi, there. Nice car, Mr. Weasley,' he greeted with an amiable smile. Mr. Weasley glanced proudly at the garage. 

'Isn't it, though? Good of Fudge to make me Head of Department. He fired Mundungus Fletcher for siding with Dumbledore, or at least he thought he did -- Fletcher quit first, saying he didn't want to work for someone so shallow.' At this, Harry laughed. Ron was taking out Hedwig's cage from the car. 

'Let's get your stuff upstairs, huh?' Harry nodded, and he, Ron, Fred and George lugged Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage into Ron's bedroom while Hermione stayed downstairs to make breakfast. Fred and George retreated to their room, while Ron and Harry stayed in the bedroom to settle in. 

'Where's Ginny?' asked Harry as they cleared away several issues of _Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle from the floor__. Ron grinned. _

'Probably polishing her statue of you.' He made a big 'Picture this' motion with his arm. 'The great Harry Potter.' Harry turned red for perhaps the third time that morning and chucked a pillow at Ron. 

'Quit it.' he said shortly. Ron laughed, managing to gasp 'That-was-mature' between chuckles. When he had regained his composure, he said:

'C'mon, Harry. Let's go down to breakfast.' 

And so they did, climbing down the stairs which seemed to twist all around the house.When they finally got to the kitchen, the smell of warm pancakes and bacon entered their nostrils. Fred and George and Ginny were already there, munching toast. Ginny looked up at him with brown eyes for a second before turning red and going back to her breakfast. Percy was nowhere to be seen. _Probably at work, thought Harry. Mrs. Weasley and Hermione were flipping flapjacks near the stove, while Mr. Weasley was at the table, calmly reading __The Daily Prophet. Harry and Ron sat down at the small wooden table, greeting everyone a good morning. Hermione came over and placed a heaping pile of pancakes in front of both of them. Mr. Weasley folded up his newspaper and dug into his own breakfast, while the two chefs sat down and poured themselves some juice. _

'What are you all planning to do today?' asked Mrs. Weasley. Everyone looked over at Harry, whose mouth was bulging with pancake -- it was paradise to someone who'd only eaten lettuce leaves all month. Harry swallowed.

'What're you all looking at me for?'

Hermione tilted her head thoughtfully. 'Well it is your birthday, isn't it?' she asked. The others nodded in agreement. Harry looked at her. 

'So what?' he asked expressionlessly. Hermione sighed, defeated, and waved a hand dismissively. 

'Never mind. Fred, George, any suggestions?' 

Fred and George gave identical shrugs. 'Nah. We were thinking about playing Quidditch, but it's too hot outside.'

'I guess you can all just loll around, eh?' asked Mr. Weasley.

'Uh-huh,' said Ron. 

Hermione grinned and took the opportunity to remind them of their doubtless unfinished tasks. 'You could get started on your summer homework,' she said innocently. Everyone groaned. 

* * *

Harry wiped at his eyebrows. Fred and George were right, he thought, it was really, really hot. 

He was sitting, alone, on a bench near the small creek that ran behind the Weasley house. It was hotter inside, that was why he was here. Hermione had somehow got Ron to do his Potions essay, and Fred and George were in their room, from which explosions echoed through the house and to the creek. Harry was reading _Quidditch at Hogwarts, which was a tad like __Quidditch Through the Ages, only it paid more attention to the game's history at his school, like who won Quidditch cups and the commentators. It turned out that the first Quidditch game at the school was held nearly two years since the founding date, as the school was still striving to get students and was unable to pay attention to games. Just as he was reading about the riot Salazar Slytherin had made at one of the matches, a pair of small hands closed around his eyes. _

'Aaaaargh!' said Harry, jumping up in surprise. The hands went unmoved, though with some trouble, from his eyes. Harry stood still, the shock he had felt quickly smoothing itself into curiosity. 'Who is this?' 

'Guess.' said a voice.

Harry laughed at the presumption that he wouldn't be able to – he would recognise her voice anywhere. 'Hermione, come on. You're hurting my eyes.' The hands removed themselves, and Harry blinked to help focus. He turned around and bumped one knee on the bench. 

'Ow!' said Harry, bending down automatically to massage his knee. Hermione giggled. She slid around the wooden bench to sit on it, watching Harry focus his attention on his leg. Harry stopped, stood straight, and turned to her. 

'So, what do you need?' he said casually. 

'Nothing. I just wanted to see what you were up to.' She patted the spot next to her. 'Sit.' 

Harry picked up his book, was lying on the ground after Harry dropped it in surprise. He stared determinedly at the water running very slowly down the creek to avoid looking at Hermione. Beside him, she sighed and put a hand on his arm. Harry stiffened slightly, but did nothing to stop her. She took the book from his hand and flipped the pages. 

'I think there's something in here you'd like to see.' 

'What?' Harry peered over to her curiously. As she was searching for a certain page, Harry couldn't help but notice how taller she had grown, and more mature-looking. Hermionewas wearing a pair of white shorts, very short shorts, Harry remarked, that showed off her tanned legs, and a tank top. Her hair fell loosely around her, and one could really note the difference – her hair had lost its frizzy feel and now ran in smooth curls down her back. She was also wearing a silver bracelet with an arrowhead charm hanging off it. Dang it, Harry thought, that was Viktor Krum's gift to her in the previous year, a souvenir from their explorations of Bulgaria during the summer. Hermione wore it constantly, and Ron teased her about it just as incessantly. It was then that Harry noticed that he had stopped flipping through the pages and was staring at him. Harry looked up from his view of her arrowhead bracelet (not to mention her legs).

'Harry, what's wrong with you? You seem awfully distracted.'

'Nothing. Now, what was it that you wanted me to see?' 

Hermione continued to stare at him for a few seconds, but showed him the book nevertheless. In the centre of the page was a picture of a teenager with untidy jet-black hair, and deep coffee-coloured eyes, wearing scarlet Quidditch robes and flying on a broomstick. 

'Is that my dad?' he croaked. 

Hermione nodded, and pointed to a brief description. _James Potter, Captain and Seeker for the Gryffindor team from 1964 to 1970, had lead the team to six Quidditch Cup victories in succession. _

Harry looked at Hermione. 'Wow -- he'd won the Quidditch cup for every year he was Captain! I knew he was good, but I didn't know he was _that good.' _

Hermione nodded. 'He was one of the most impressive Quidditch players of the century, they say. Guess who else is on that list?' Her eyes twinkled, and Harry knew what she was about to say.

'Careful, my ego,' he said with a roguish grin. 

They were in danger of sinking into total silence. Harry didn't give himself the trouble of looking for a topic, feeling too sluggish in the heat. 

Hermione took the hint. 'So, how's Lavender?' 

Harry's eyes darted to look at her. He was just a little _angry, that was it. _

'Look, Hermione,' he said, more loudly than he'd intended, 'I _really would appreciate it if you didn't stick your nose in other people's business.' Hermione looked about to say something, perhaps an apology, but Harry beat her to it. 'You know very well we broke up last month, and for your sake don't ask about it.' His shoulders sagged and, still angry, he glared at her reflection on the water. _

He watched as Hermione's expression changed from surprise to hurt, and as she stood wordlessly and ran in the direction of the Burrow. 

The sun's reflection glittered on the surface of the water. 

* * *

_Jerk. He was such a jerk. She had gone through all that trouble to find that book, she had even got her parents to take her to Diagon Alley to look for a present for him. She had made sure he was in the book, too -- some of the books were only updated until 1990. She had got her hair to look better, with some help from her cousin Hannah (whose family owned a beauty parlour a couple of blocks from the Grangers' clinic), and it was all for him. Hermione missed Harry terribly during the first weeks of summer, and the first thing he'd said when he saw her was 'You're lucky I don't sleep naked.' She had forgiven him for that when he returned her embrace, but this was just becoming a little stupid. Hermione shows him his father, commends him on his Quidditch performance, and then asks about his __girlfriend. She did __not know they'd broken up! Harry barely owled her during the summer, and he hadn't said anything at all about it! _

She cursed herself silently as she entered the Burrow, for a tiny, diminutive, selfish part of her was actually glad of the news._ _

Hermione stormed upstairs, not caring that Fred and George had poked their heads into the hall when the sound of her feet got too loud, and hurled herself into Ginny's bedroom, where Ginny herself was on her bed, working on something. The younger hid the parchment she was writing on under her pillow upon seeing Hermione, although Hermione had already seen what she was doing. Ginny crawled to the foot of the bed where Hermione was sitting. 

'What's wrong?' 

'Nothing,' she replied in a clipped tone.

'Doesn't look like nothing.'

Hermione sighed. 'Have you ever, ever felt really wonderful and really miserable at the same time, Gin?' 

Ginny shifted uncomfortably, then peered questioningly into Hermione's eyes. 'What's he done now?' 

'I don't know if I should blame him anymore. Maybe the problem's just me.' She sighed, then buried her face in her hands. 'For goodness' sake, Ginny. We're sixteen -- or at least he is, my birthday isn't until September -- and we've known each other for nearly six years. He obviously doesn't look at me any other way than as a friend or a sister.' She felt Ginny place a hand gingerly on her shoulder.

'How do you know he doesn't love you?'

'Honestly, Ginny!' said Hermione, throwing her hands up in exasperation. 'Isn't it obvious?' 

'Listen, Hermione. Sometimes boys are a little… clueless.' She took a deep breath, as if preparing herself for giving a lecture about Pogrebins. 'They're unbearably stupid about things like feelings and things. And he _has to like you, he's just got to. What's not to like? You're smart, you're sweet, you're pretty --'_

'Only because I got help.'

' -- and you're considerate..' Ginny trailed off lamely.

Hermione noticed the distressed look in Ginny's brown eyes, which were similar to her own. Then she felt guilty -- here she was, complaining on and on about her love life to a girl who liked the same boy as she. 'Oh, Ginny, I'm so sorry.' She said softly. 'I know you like Harry, too, and I'm sorry -- I'm such a whiner.' 

Ginny turned red. 'Er, no. No you're not. I've always liked Harry, but I -- I don't think it was the real Harry I liked. I never really got to know him, you know, and you have. I think it was Harry Potter, destroyer-of-You-Know-Who I really liked.' She sighed and giggled abruptly. 'You deserve him.' 

'Oh, Ginny, it's so impossible to hate you.' Hermione hugged Ginny like the sister she never had. She released Ginny gently, then asked: 'What was it you were working on, Ginny?'

Ginny turned as red as her vivid hair. 'N-nothing. Just an essay for Charms.'

'Really? What about?' Asked Hermione interestedly. 

'Like everybody says when they're in denial,' said Ginny with a dry grin, 'nothing. What to do you say we get some juice? I'm baking in here.' 

* * * 

Harry sat, stunned, after Hermione left. But he was somehow grateful she had – he didn't quite know what he would have done if she hadn't. He and Lavender had had a sort of mutual admiration society, and were considered boyfriend and girlfriend in their fifth year, but it wasn't official, really. Just as he was beginning to get used to the idea of them together, Lavender had broken off their technically non-existent relationship for some abominable reason via owl post. His chest tightened at the memory of it. 

To his immense surprise, one minute after Hermione left, two figures Apparated beside him, right near the park bench.

Harry jumped up in surprise, then, seeing who they were, sat down again. _I am going to have a heart attack if these people don't quit surprising me, he thought. Fred and George Weasley were walking toward him. _

'You don't _do that to a guy, you know, it can really kill someone,' said Harry jokingly, but he faltered when he saw that Fred and George actually looked serious. _

'What happened to Hermione?' George asked. 

'She asked about Lavender,' he said in a barely audible voice. 

Fred and George, though he hadn't told them about the break-up, seemed to feel that this subject was not their territory. Perhaps something he and Ron could talk about. George shifted his weight on his legs uncomfortably. 

'You're sure that's all that happened?' Fred pressed for more after a minute.

'Yeah.' Harry looked up, seeming suspicious. 'Hey, why do you guys want to know anyway?' 

Fred and George shrugged. 'Nothing. We just, er, _overheard one of her and Ginny's conversations when we saw her hurl herself in their room.' George offered._

'Nothing, really.' said Fred with another shrug.

Harry narrowed his eyes. 'What was the conversation _about?' he said sharply. _

George shook his head. 'We're not telling.' 

Fred nodded. 'Now, we gotta go.' The two then started walking to the Burrow. 

'Wait,' said Harry, and the two stopped to look back at him. 'Aren't you going to Disapparate?' 

George smirked. 'We just wanted to give a dramatic entrance.' The two disappeared inside. 

It gets better, trust me. Really, it does! This is going to blossom into a romance in the later chapters -- with whom, I won't say. Just that there will be no necromancy here, in case you want Caitlin to come back. No Ouija boards either. It starts in the trio's summer after fifth year, by the way. Oh, yeah – sorry if I always write H/Hr/D fics. I know it's getting old rather quick… For more of those, in case some of you are crazy and like them, check out my fics under the name Meriadoc: [][1]http://www.fanfiction.net/index.fic?action=Directory-AuthorProfile&UserID=54604

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/index.fic?action=Directory-AuthorProfile&UserID=54604



	2. Where Clandestine Lovers Lie

[Disclaimer:] God I hate writing this part... Anyway, Draco doesn't belong to me.. *sniff* And so does the setting and the other characters. 

Disclaimer: God I hate writing this part... Anyway, Draco doesn't belong to me... *Sniff* And so does the setting and the other characters. There are also plenty of quotes in here from one of my favourite books, 'I, Claudius', by Robert Graves. Caitlin Somers is from the book Summer Sisters by Judy Blume, which is a very delicious romance. Oh, and I put in a Death-Eater dinner, something similar to one Draco attended in Cassandra's Draco Dormiens (from which, by the way, I got Narcissa's last name). And no, I did not get 'Circle' from Lori's PoU and STNE… I wrote this part before I took the time to read her fabulous series.

A/N: Thanks for those who reviewed chapter one. Just to let you know—James Potter was the _chaser for Gryffindor, never the seeker. Just a correction for something I had not edited in the previous instalment. Again this was roughly edited, and if you have any constructive comments to make, they would be greatly appreciated. To one of my reviewers: What do you mean, 'get to the point'? Do elaborate. _

Dolce Far Niente

Chapter Two: Where Clandestine Lovers Lie

'Draco?'

Draco raised his head from a tangle of tear-streaked blankets and tiredly started towards his doors again. His father, he knew, was the one on the other side.

Sure enough, Lucius Malfoy stood there, his usual sneer in place.

'Good morning, Draco.'

'And good morning to you, father,' said Draco through gritted teeth. He knew better than to raise the subject of Caitlin, and besides, his heart hurt whenever he thought about her. Lucius stepped into the room and looked around. What he saw didn't seem to surprise him one bit -- the curtains, the draperies were torn and dishevelled. The furniture looked like it had been thrown around in near-insanity, which it had. 

'We will have this fixed later on, Draco,' said Lucius, as carelessly as if it were a stuck-up hair. 'For now, I want to talk to you.' He took one of the chairs, this one not wrecked, and sat on it, facing Draco. He gestured to the bed, and Draco obediently sat. 

'You do know, don't you, why I killed her?' At this, Draco flinched. He did not want to talk about Caitlin, and was indeed surprised his father did. But then maybe he should have expected it, after all, what he hated with a passion his father loved.

'No.'

'Of course you do -- if not, you would not have been hiding your 'fling' from me through all these years, would you?' Lucius sneered. 

'Yes,' said Draco, trying to keep his expression as indifferent as possible, knowing that if he were to appear the least bit contemptuous severe punishments would ensue. He tilted his own chin defiantly. 'But I do not see why you had to dispose of her. And so quickly.' 

Lucius stood up. 'Emotions, boy. Emotions. We are prohibited to have them, do you not remember? When we become part of the Circle, we are not allowed them more than ever.' Lucius covered the distance between him and his son and uncovered the latter's left forearm. Sure enough, the Dark Mark stared back at him, a horrible skull with a serpent protruding out of the mouth. Lucius smiled at it, his usual, sadistic, evil smile.

'You married mother,' grumbled Draco, snatching his arm back, visibly displeased to have been reminded of what he was. Lucius laughed.

'You think that was for love? It was never so. It was for power.'

Draco's eyebrows knitted in consternation. 'How so?'

'Your mother adored me, Draco, but I never her. But hers was one of the most prominent pureblood families, one of the few left. The Hardestys were rich and powerful, and it wouldn't hurt if she were my wife. Besides, boy, who will be heir to the Malfoy fortune?' 

My, that stung! Draco goggled at him for a few seconds, but, knowing Lucius would not be too kind if he found his son questioning his decisions, quickly resumed his well practised his nonchalant air. 'Of course, father.'The thought _I'm just an heir to him crossed his mind, but he pushed it away quickly, for fear of emotions overtaking him._

His father went on with the lecture. 'Caitlin Somers was a _slave, Draco. A slave. A Squib. It was bad enough that you were doing things behind my back, but her being a slave made it much worse.'_

'I get it, father,' said Draco, his eyes on the floor. He was tired of these speeches, ever so tired.

Lucius glared at his son. 'Promise me, boy, that you will never, ever do this again. If this reaches the Dark Lord's ears...'

Draco tried to look his words, at the same time wondering why the Dark Lord would care whom he consorted with. 'It won't, father. I promise.'

'Promise what, exactly, Draco?' said Lucius in that intimidating air of his.

Draco stood up, knees feeling like they would give way any moment, fighting the urge to plop back down and have to sit with Lucius hovering over him. 'That I will never do anything behind your back, and that I will never speak of this incident again.' 

Lucius smiled approvingly. 'Very well, then. I shall go -- my colleagues will be coming here for dinner.' He checked his watch. 'I will see you at 6:30, sharp. Dress properly -- no Muggle clothing.'

Draco nodded like the obedient little heir he was expected to be. 'I will, Father.'

***

'We're going to London tomorrow?'

Arthur Weasley nodded at his youngest son then sipped the rest of his pumpkin juice. 

'Cool!' said Fred and George, in unison. 'We do need to stock up at Gambol and Japes,' said Fred.

Harry looked out of the corner of his eye at Hermione. He was sorry he had yelled at her two days ago, since, after some contemplation, he had found that he had never really told her about Lavender. Harry truly wished he could just up and apologise, but his teenage-boy pride wouldn't let him. She had been pretty quiet for the whole meal, and was absentmindedly pushing her mashed potatoes around her plate with a fork.He did hope he could ask her what was wrong, but in the light of their previous misunderstanding, he couldn't stock up enough courage to do so. He was glad when Ron asked the question for him.

'Er – nothing's wrong,' she replied, with false cheerfulness. 'I guess I just don't have much of an appetite.' She directed her attention back to mutilating her food, assuming the interrogation done.

But Mrs. Weasley seemed to have spotted the same problem. 'Darling, come now, surely there's something wrong? No one has ever failed to devour my mashed potatoes.' Everyone, except Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, snorted into their dinner. Hermione looked up again with an obviously fake happy expression.

'No, really, I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley. Anyway, your potatoes still taste like Heaven.' 

Ron shook his head amusedly. 'Not much of an actress, Hermione,' he addressed his family. He turned back to her. 'Now, really, what is it?

Hermione rose from her place. 'I told you, there's nothing wrong!' She yelled in an uncharacteristically spiteful tone. Everyone recoiled. Hermione turned pink. 'Oh, er, I'm sorry, everyone... There's just something wrong with me, don't know what. If you'll excuse me...' She hung her head and left her place. 

'I had better see what's wrong,' said Ginny, making to stand up, but Harry beat her to it.

'No, _I'll see what's wrong.' He excused himself and left the kitchen. The twins caught his eye and he shot them a very meaningful look. George stared after him before saying, 'Well, that was an enjoyable meal. Dessert, anyone?'_

***

'Hermione, are you in here?' he asked, though knowing this was where Hermione would go.

Harry had reached Ginny's room and was knocking on the door, to no avail. 'Hermione?' He said, more loudly. The door creaked open and Hermione poked her head out. Harry was surprised to see her face tear-streaked. She looked rather disappointed to see him, and he made a draft of his apology in his mind and stuck the foot in the crack in the door, knowing she would close it in his face.

'Could you just leave me alone for a few seconds, Harry? I really, really need to be by myself for now. I'll see everyone on the morning, OK? Please tell them I said that.' Her voice quivered slightly as she spoke and Hermione looked like she was struggling for the look of composure. She made to close the door, but of course Harry's foot was in the way, and failed. 

'Hermione, I know you're mad at me, but just let me apologise...' He forced the door open, much to Hermione's chagrin, and had managed to squeeze himself inside despite Hermione's pressing on the door to keep him out. He had never seen the inside of Ginny's room before. In fact, he had never seen the inside of any girl's room before. Ginny's room was nicely decorated, though smaller than Ron's was. The walls were painted bright, violent yellow (making Harry wonder if the Weasleys had a thing for eye-hurting colours), almost matching Ginny and Hermione's bed linens. Crookshanks lay on a small mauve rug with his whole body curled up, making him look like a large, furry ball. Harry turned his attention to Hermione, who was wringing the front of her oversized shirt and staring at her bare feet. 'Hermione?'

She looked up, obviously not willing to forgive him so easily. 'Harry, please leave.'

'No.' Though slightly put off that she wasn't going to pardon him, and wondering why his yelling at her, just once, would hurt her so much, whereas Ron did it all the time, Harry strode towards Hermione, who was standing near her mattress, and took her hand. 'Not until you let me say what I have to.' He stared into her hazel eyes. 'Look, I'm _sorry,' he said, as sincerely as he could. Hermione took a breath, looked away, and let him go on. _

'I was thinking. I _didn't tell you about Lavender and me, and I thought I did, because I'm not used to keeping things from you. I guess I just forgot – I swear, there was even a draft of my letter to you for it.' He had said all this very fast, and Harry took a calming breath. 'I'm so __stupid, I know, but...' He faltered, at a loss for words. _

Hermione looked at him, a neutral expression on her face, not knowing if she'd forgiven him or not. Had he known what _she felt, how hurt __she was… 'Look, you really --', she began, but Harry had pulled her into a tight embrace, muffling her words. Hermione's heart pounded in her chest as Harry's arms encircled her waist, and could hear Harry's own steadily beating in his chest through his cotton shirt. He buried his face in her soft auburn hair. 'Damn, I'm sorry,' he murmured. Hermione nearly melted. How could she hate __him? In her breast was a nearly intolerable powerful feeling for him, which quickly procured his pardon. Reluctantly she pulled back from his squeeze._

'It's okay.' She tilted her head to face him.

Harry's shoulders sagged in relief, and he smiled and squeezed her hand. 'All right, then. What do you want to do – do you want to go back downstairs, or stay here?' 

'I'll stay here. I'm starting to feel sleepy. You go on down -- I don't think you want to miss Mrs. Weasley's home-made treacle pudding.' Hermione slipped her hand out of his. 'I'm fine, tell them not to worry. Oh, and Harry?' She asked as he turned around to leave. 

'Yeah?' 

'Thank you.' And, in a moment of boldness, she kissed him on the cheek. Harry turned slightly pink, but shook his head to conceal it. 

'You're welcome.' In his haze he hadn't the presence of mind to wonder what Hermione was thanking him for – he was the one at fault, and was only correcting the wrong he'd done. He led himself out of the room. _What was that about? He thought. Harry went back downstairs, his hand to his reddened face._

***

'Where is Narcissa, Lucius?'

Lucius Malfoy turned his head to face MacNair, one of his fellow Death-Eaters. 'She is not feeling well, I am afraid. Dragon Pox.' He brought his wineglass to his lips and drank deeply. 'It is quite a shame she didn't have it as a child.'

Draco squirmed in his seat. He was sitting in the Malfoy Manor dining hall, at one of his father's Circle dinners. Being around the rest of the Circle always made him uncomfortable, plus his father was strict about everything to do with his 'colleague dinners', from the food to clothing worn on the table. Draco had forced himself into black, heavy wizarding robes, and he was slightly choking in them.

Draco glanced around the table. There were about twelve Death-Eaters present, including him and his father. Even in a casual atmosphere, Voldemort's supporters wore hoods and masks, but Draco knew from either their builds or their voices who each was. Confident that Draco would not give them away, they conversed freely about their plans, none of which Draco was too interested in anyway. He found it a relief, too, rather than a disappointment, that none of his father's friends seemed to want to talk to him -- whenever they did, they always asked about how the Potions professor and Head of Slytherin House, Snape, was doing, then the rest of the conversation would be about plans to decapitate this particular Dumbledore supporter. 

They got through the salmon and soup quite well, and everything was quite orderly, until Draco felt a burning sensation on his left forearm. He winced, and pulled back the sleeves of his arm. Sure enough, the Dark Mark was stinging, a sign that they should Apparate to their Master's side. Lucius Malfoy and the others had obviously felt the burning too, and the host stood up and cleared his throat, black eyes excited and… malicious.

'My fellow Death-Eaters, it appears as though our Master needs us. Shall we?'

The room was suddenly full of the swishing of cloaks, and one by one, the Death-Eaters disappeared, except Lucius and Draco. The elder turned to his son.

'Can you do it this time, Draco?'

Draco nodded half-heartedly, eyes on his leather shoes. Apparating always left him utterly weak, as he was underage. Apparition was only taught to seventh-year students, but, as Lucius put it, Draco had already had masses of training in the Dark Arts, and it wouldn't hurt if Draco knew how before time -- the Death-Eaters were constantly Called by the Dark Lord (Lucius had managed to find an amulet that made the Ministry, which kept tabs on those who Apparated, unable to know he did it). Draco turned his eyes up to his father, and was surprised to see Lucius shaking his head.

'No, I don't think you can do it. You could splinch yourself, you know -- you haven't had much practice at that Muggle-loving school.' He wrinkled his nose at the mere thought of Hogwarts. Lucius put a hand on his son's shoulder. 'I will tell you what the meeting is about. Now go tend to your mother -- she will need you right about now.' He then Disapparated, leaving his son alone in the dining hall. 

Draco shivered. It wasn't really cold, but he felt chilly. He headed for his God-forsaken room, feeling no inclination at all to tend to his indifferent mother. Narcissa would just have to understand. 

***

'Harry? Harry…' 

Harry Potter woke up with a start. Unbelievable pain seared through his forehead, and he could only keep from screaming with sheer willpower. What was it, a lion, or an eagle? And a black-robed figure... The remaining details of the dream swirled through his head like fog. 

Harry kneaded his forehead with his fingers, and could feel the raised mark through the tips of his digits. The pain was gone from his scar now, but he could still almost feel it. The details of his dream gradually escaped his reverie, no matter how hard he tried to cling to the vestiges of it. He looked around Ron's room to see if had gone and woken his best friend up. Fortunately, It was not so – Ron's tranquil breathing could still be heard in the chamber. He lay back on his mattress, watching the strips of moonlight, reflected by the creek, dance on the ceiling. They lulled him to sleep, and he welcomed the unconsciousness with open arms. 

***

_A Griffin. That was all it could be -- the head, wings and forelegs of an eagle, the body, hind legs and tail of a lion. It roared, or at least it looked like it did, as no sound escaped from its stretched jaws… _

Hermione's eyes flew open. She sat up, the front and back of her night-dress sticking to her body with sweat, breath coming out in gasps, and heart beating in her chest as if she had just participated in a marathon. She lay back on her bed. _It was just a dream -- it wasn't even frightening. Just a Griffin. She closed her eyes, but unconsciousness refused to accept her. She stood up and walked from her and Ginny's room. She wandered listlessly around the upper floors of the Burrow, and somehow found herself standing in front of Ron's room. The crooked words __Ronald's Room glared down at her. She opened the door, not knowing if she should. _

When she saw Harry, her heart plummeted to the floor. She tiptoed over Harry's bag and stopped to look at him. He looked kind of angelic when he was asleep. But then everyone was. 

_Oh, she thought, __he forgot to remove his glasses. She knelt down on the floor beside his mattress and placed her hands on Harry's face, and took off his spectacles, carefully so that he didn't wake up. She set it down on Ron's night table so Harry wouldn't roll over and crush his glasses. He looked a lot younger without them, though Hermione didn't think it would be the same if he'd got contacts instead. He really was quite handsome, features illuminated in the moonlight. Realising she had not given him his good-night kiss, as she always did for him and Ron, sheepishly she leaned down to place a small peck on his cheek._

She instantly drew back, astonished. He was cold, freezing cold, and her lips burned from the feel of his icy skin. She touched his face gingerly, wanting to see if she had just imagined his frigidity. She must have, for when her fingers made contact with his face, she didn't feel the cold at all.

As she started to stretch from her crouched position, Harry's eyes fluttered open, and she froze and coloured. 

'Hermione?' he said groggily. Hermione felt so embarrassed she wanted to _die. She didn't know what to say, or what to do, so she just sat there, dumbstruck, as Harry sat up and felt around for his glasses. _

'Hermione, what are you doing here?' his voice was not the least bit angry or accusing, and Hermione felt the muscles in her shoulder relax a bit. Harry slid his glasses up his nose.

'W-well, er, I was having a dream, and I couldn't sleep, so I went wandering around, and I just, er, found my self here.' She wished to kick herself for her inarticulateness.

'Oh.' Harry's expression suddenly turned serious. 'Hermione, what dream did you have?'

'Er, I don't really remember...' Hermione lied. Harry grabbed her arm and stared into her eyes. 

'Please.' 

'OK.' Hermione frowned thoughtfully, trying to recount what she remembered of her vision. She hadn't made an effort to keep the details in mind, for it hadn't meant anything to her. But it might to Harry, she thought. 

'It was about a Griffin,' she said, at last able to come up with something.

'What's that?' 

'You know, the Griffin. It's part lion, part eagle. Harry, what --' 

'I had the same dream.'

Hermione paused. 'Excuse me?'

'I said I had the same dream.'

'But, er, that's not possible --'

'Why not?' 

'Because then you and I would have to be subconsciously connected.'

'In layman's terms_, that would be...?'_

'It means we could be, er, I don't know, psychic or something.'

Harry leaned back. He was now sitting in an Indian-seat position, with is his hands on is bare feet. He looked thoughtfully at the sloping ceiling. Ron's posters of _The Chudley Cannons were unseen in the dark, only lightly illuminated by the dim moonlight that danced upon them. _

'Harry?'

'Go on to bed, Hermione,' he said distractedly, as if deep in thought.

Hermione began to feel a little nervous. Suddenly she was aware of where she was and who she was talking to and what little clothing either had on, he in worn pyjamas and her in a night-dress -- without a dressing gown. She was relieved it was dark, or the situation would have been more awkward than it already was. 

'Harry, are you mad at me?' 

Harry stared at her, then shook his head. 'No, of course not. I should ask that… I was being a daft git the other day.'

'Oh. Don't worry yourself about that anymore, it most probably just slipped your mind.'

Harry took her hand and squeezed it. 'I'm not mad at you. Now go back to bed -- Ron will throw a fit if he sees you here.' 

Hermione stood up, relieved that Harry wasn't pressing for details. 'Why will Ron throw a fit?'

'Trust me, we're supposed to share a brain. Good night.' 

She tiptoed, once more, across Harry and Ron's things, until she reached the door. When she did, she turned around and was surprised to see Harry in the same Indian-seat position, and still staring up at the ceiling. 

'Aren't you going to bed, Harry?'

Harry looked at her strangely. She couldn't see his expression in the dark, and was feeling very curious as to what he was thinking. 'Hermione, was there a man in your dream?'

'No. Why?' She asked, wondering if Harry was asking if he himself was in her dreams, but then pushed the thought away. 

'I'm not sure, but I think there was one in mine.'

'What did he look like?' Hermione leaned on the doorframe. She was glad Harry was telling her things. She had never really been a confidante to him, after all, since there was always Ron to talk to, and she didn't think Harry told even him about his dreams.

Harry shrugged. 'I don't know. There was a lot of fog.' He took of his glasses and set them on the floor beside the mattress. 'Good night, Hermione.'

'Good-night to you too.' She then tiptoed hurriedly out of the hall to her and Ginny's room, lest anyone catch her. Hermione hurled herself on her bed and closed her eyes, trying in vain to fall asleep. The contents of their conversation kept her tossing and turning. They didn't really have the same dream, since Harry said there was a man in his, but it was rather unsettling that Harry would be dreaming about a creature he didn't even know the name of and that the same beast would be in her vision. 

Ah, well, she thought, she would ponder it in the morning. For the moment, she was to take Harry's advice and go to bed. Everything Harry had said was stored away, in her brain, into a small metal safe-box with a heart-shaped lock on it. 

Somewhere far from there, another sixteen-year old sat up from sleep.

***

_What was that__ about? _

Draco Malfoy wiped at his brow. What a strange dream. He tried to remember it, tried to recall the details, but his head hurt when he tried. Draco stood up from his bed (recently fixed by the house-elf) and put on his slippers, then walked slowly to his large bay window. He sat down on the cushions, opened the windows. The night breeze felt cool on his silk pyjamas and milk-white skin. Draco then peered outside into the deep, dark, mess of wild trees that was Malfoy Manor's backyard. In its own weird way, the scene that greeted him was quite beautiful, though somewhat cruelly so, the numerous small ponds reflecting the silver moonlight. 

Draco looked up at the velvet sky. There were no stars. Of course, he knew enough not to be scared by this -- once in a while, it seemed as though the god of night forgot to sprinkle his stars here and there.

It happened very suddenly. As Draco was scanning the sky, for perhaps an owl bringing him a letter, which in turn told him that Crabbe had caused another scandal in Muggle London by crushing a city bus with his bare hands, a set of golden sequins seemed to appear out of nowhere in the night sky. Stars, he realised. The twinkling beads formed a pattern against the heavens. Draco, gasping, realised what constellation it was called—Lucius had made him memorise all the names of star formations from an old book once—Draco. It was the constellation he was named after. Draco frantically searched the atmosphere for an explanation, perhaps all the stars had appeared at once, he thought, but no. _Draco was the lone configuration. _

Suddenly, the stars moved around and around, whirling in the firmament, until they had come to form another pattern -- this time familiar for reasons the boy did not especially like. The Dark Mark. The skull, that horrible, grinning skull, with a serpent for a tongue. It cast a ghostly green glow on the forest outside the window, and a chill went down Draco's spine. 

In a few, swift moves, Draco had closed the window, pulled on the fabric blinds, and crossed the room to his bed where he lay, shivering in fright, until he drowned into unconsciousness. 

***

'Harry? Oh, come on, Harry, wake up.'

Ron's voice echoed through his subconscious. Then Harry felt a tugging and woke up. 'What? Where's the fire?' He said stupidly. Then, more wakefully, 'Oh, er, sorry, Ron.'

His best friend was looming above him, shaking his head. 'Honestly, Harry, what did you do that made you sleep so late? We're supposed to go to London today!'

Harry jumped to his feet. 'That's right! I'd better get ready -- what time is it?'

Ron checked his watch. 'Eight fifteen. We're supposed to leave at eight thirty, so hurry.'

Harry nodded and left with his towel, heading for the hall bathroom. When he got there, it was occupied, so Harry waited patiently. He whistled to himself. What _did he do that made him sleep so late? Then it struck him -- Hermione was in Ron's room last night. Harry had forgotten what her excuse was, all that he remembered was that Hermione told him she had a dream about a Griffin, whatever it was. Then he, Harry, had told her that he had the same dream. Then..._

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open wrenched Harry sharply to attention. Harry straightened up from his leaning position on the wall, and was surprised to see the person who came out. 

It was Hermione. She looked infernally pretty in her white cotton bathrobe, her hair spreading in damp waves down her back. She looked equally surprised as Harry felt. She smiled at him and said her good-morning, then hurried up the twisted stairs to Ginny's room. 

Harry felt very stupid as he entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He didn't even say 'good morning'. Harry scolded himself for that as he slipped his clothes over his head. He turned on the shower and let the running water drown his thoughts for a while. 

***

Hermione's breakfast churned in her stomach. Floo travel had always made her feel awfully queasy, and today was no exception. 

She, Harry, and the Weasley family were in Diagon Alley, looking for school supplies. Harry had not needed to visit Gringotts, as he had got excess money exactly one year ago. It was a good thing, Hermione thought, that she had worn a sleeveless top with tennis shorts, because she was practically baking in the sun. And maybe also, she thought sheepishly, because they showed off her tanned figure perfectly.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were standing in the former two's favourite store, _Quality Quidditch Supplies. Ron was checking out a box of practice Snitches, which, unlike real ones, could be called back with a Summoning Spell (rather like the first Snidget of Quididitch). Real Snitches, as Hermione had read once, had all kinds of counter-spells, like anti-flame, anti-Summon, anti-Banish, and all others, to keep from unfairness in the game. Hermione turned her attention to Harry, who had his back to her, discussing the quality of the best Cleansweeps when compared with old Silver Arrows with the slightly chubby cashier, Herman. His countenance and build reminded Hermione slightly of Harry's Uncle Vernon, whom she had seen at King's Cross; only this man's face was friendly and good-humoured. She headed towards her friend and stopped a few inches away, not wishing to interrupt their exchange, but Herman had noticed her and smiled. Harry turned around and grinned at her, then motioned for her to come forward and introduced her to Herman._

'Aye, she your gal, Harry?' Said Herman, after Harry had done, an amused grin on his pudgy face. Harry turned brilliant red before muttering, 'No, why would you say that?'

The man shook his head, unaware of the discomfort he was causing the two youths. 'Aye, sorry, I just thought you'd make a handsome couple.' 

Harry turned even redder, if that was even possible and led Hermione away from Herman. Assumptions like _that were part of the reason he and Lavender had broken up, and he was displeased of being reminded so when he was in such a good humour. Also, he was used to having people assume that he was Hermione's beau, but having someone say it in so forward a way, and within Hermione's earshot, embarrassed him. He looked over at their other friend, who looked like he was enjoying himself immensely in his quest for a broom. 'I think Ron's staying here -- he wants a new broom, and knowing him, he'll be taking long.' _

'He's buying a broom?', asked Hermione, trying to sound as indifferent about Herman's taunt as Harry seemed. If only what that man had said was true…

'Yeah. Since Fred and George are gone, he's going to try to fill in.' He wiped at his sweaty brow. 'You want to go somewhere?' asked he.

'Like where?' 

'I was thinking, you know, since you don't like Quidditch that much, we could leave Ron to his brooms and look for something you want to see.' Amusement spread over his countenance. 'Like another Gilderoy Lockhart book-signing, for example.' 

'Harry!' Hermione felt truly embarrassed, being reminded of her stupid childhood crush. 'I was twelve...' She pinched Harry's arm as hard as she could. Harry jumped back a few steps.

'Ow!' Harry exclaimed, rubbing his arm where Hermione had pinched it. But he was still smiling, assuring her he was still silently laughing. 'Come on, Hermione, I was only kidding...' 

Hermione grabbed his arm playfully and dragged him out of the store, saying over her shoulder, 'Ron! We'll see you later, at Florean Fortescue's, all right?' Ron nodded in the distance, his freckles bouncing. Hermione pulled Harry out to the middle of the street. Harry looked at her.

'I was only joking...' 

Hermione shook her head. 'I know, stupid. Now, where do you want to go?' 

Harry grabbed her arm. 'Anywhere, just out of this heat.' He felt his dark hair with his free hand. 'It's scorching hot, my hair's all warm…' 

Hermione frowned—of course Harry did not share her interests, and for once she thought that maybe she would spare him the torture of having to stand in a bookshop. 'Er, I wanted to pass by a bookstore, but you wouldn't want to go there --'

'Yeah I would. Besides, we haven't got our books yet.' Harry took out his booklists and unfolded it. 'Let's see -- The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six, and Advanced Arithmancy.' He smiled and put it back in his jeans' pocket. 

In some surprise at his easy acquiescence Hermione nodded, wiped a tendril of damp hair from her eyes, and headed to Flourish and Blotts' with Harry. 

'Have I mentioned how glad I am that you quit Divination and got Arithmancy?' Asked Hermione when they had purchased their books and left the bookstore about a half-hour later. They sat down, looking forward to cold refreshments, at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. 

'Yes. Many times.' Harry took out _Advanced Arithmancy and flipped through it, much like he had done with __Quidditch at Hogwarts. He grimaced at the sight of so many numbers and closed the book. Setting it down he looked at Hermione. 'Well, I always figured you'd be able to help me with it -- anything, except maybe Potions, would be better than Professor Trelawney's drawling.' Hermione laughed. _

The two of them got their ice cream cones (pistachio-raspberry with almonds, Harry's favourite) and polished them off quickly. Harry was starting to wonder about Ron.

'Where _is Ron? He's taking too long...' He said uncertainly. Hermione looked up from their booklists -- she had been checking if they had got everything. _

'I don't know, Harry... Maybe we should check.' The two picked up their packages and headed off to Quality Quidditch Supplies. Just as they were at the door, a jubilant-looking Ron greeted them, holding a long package wrapped in brown paper. 

'Hi, guys! Where've you been?' 

'Waiting for you,' said Hermione, panting. She had not been able to restrain herself from buying three extra books for 'light' reading, and her package weighted what felt like a ton. Harry stared at her, and automatically switched their purchases in one quick move. Hermione was amazed -- Harry had only three books, all of which she of course had purchased as well, and she couldn't believe how her other three added to the weight. This one she could carry easily. She looked up at Harry; he wasn't staggering under hers. 

'Why, aren't you two a nice-looking couple,' said Ron sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Harry rolled his in some sort of response to their adolescent-guy language and asked, 'So, what broomstick did you get?' In response Ron held up his package proudly. 

'You are looking, lady and gentleman, at the new Nimbus Two Thousand and Four!' He exclaimed happily. 

'Really?' Asked Hermione. 'I didn't know that was out -- there wasn't any sign up front.' Harry nodded in agreement, while Ron grinned even wider. 

'That's why I'm so happy -- this is the proto-type! Herman just got it, and it's been tested, of course. This is the first to be sold _anywhere. Isn't it great?'_

Hermione didn't see what was so special about having a prototype of any broom, so she kept quiet. Harry seemed to think the same way.

'I don't know, Ron -- I haven't really seen it yet,' said Harry. 'Anyway, I'm sure it'll be great on the field.' He looked at his watch, which had been previously fixed. 'Let's head off, shall we? The others are waiting for us at The Leaky Cauldron, I think.' 

The three lugged their packages to the famous pub, where, sure enough, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were waiting, drinking butterbeers. Hermione dropped Harry's books on a table, procuring a small noise, and asked, 'Where's Ginny?' Mrs. Weasley shrugged. 

'I don't know, really -- she said she would meet us here, so here we are.' She smiled at Ron's package. 'What model is that?' She asked. Hermione was a tad startled -- Mrs. Weasley didn't strike her to be the type interested in Quidditch, much less broomsticks. Ron glanced at his parcel proudly.

'Nimbus Two Thousand and Four, Mum,' he said, grinning. At that exact moment, Ginny slid in The Leaky Cauldron, a couple of brown paper-wrapped packages in her arms. She looked flushed, and, Harry thought, it was certainly not from the heat. 

'Hullo, everyone,' said Ginny brightly. 'Ready to go?' The others stared.

'Ginny, where have you been?' Her mother asked. 'We've been waiting for you.' 

Ginny, surprisingly, rolled her brown eyes. 'I don't see what's the big deal, Mum,' she said coolly. 'I was only a few minutes late.' She tapped her foot impatiently on the floor. 'So, are we going or what?'

Mrs. Weasley looked quite as taken aback as Harry felt at Ginny's behaviour. Sure, this was to be expected from a teen, but never their shy (especially around Harry Potter), gentle Ginny Weasley. 

Gathering their wits and choosing to forgive Ginny this one instance of impoliteness, the other Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione strode to the fireplace to travel home by Floo powder, nearly forgetting their parcels. 

At least, Harry added, she wasn't acting as shy as she usually was around him. He realised his shoulders were tense, and relaxed as he took a fistful of glittering Floo Powder from the flowerpot that Tom, the barman, was holding up. Face scrunched up in disdain he braced himself for another sickening journey on the Floo express.

***

Draco lugged his heavy trunk to the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten. He got through easily, avoiding hitting the stupid Muggles as he passed the ticket barrier. 

After stowing away his trunk in the luggage compartment, he looked up and down the train for an empty cabin, and found one near the back. Draco sighed and sat down, then glanced at his Rolex. Ten fifty-five -- five minutes to go until their departure. Draco took off his robes, which his father had persuaded him to change into, despite the heat. His silvery-blonde hair was starting to get sweaty, and he wiped it with his black scarf, which had encircled his neck. As he untied the scarf, something cold and silver touched his hand. He glanced at it, knowing what it was. Caitlin's cross shone brightly in the sunlight which filtered through the fabric blinds on the window. _Ad infinitum. Ad infinitum. Ad infinitum. The Latin phrase swirled in his head. He had forgotten what that meant. Caitlin had told him once, when he asked. He remembered when that was -- the first time he had ever seen Caitlin Somers. _

As a little boy, Draco had never been exposed to the slaves, house-elves, yes, as they were called upon to shine his shoes sometimes, but never slaves. As his father had feared that 'they might rub off on him', the Squib servants were expected not to show their faces to the masters of the house. 

At the age of thirteen, Draco actually formed an acquaintance with one.

~ _It was a normal summer's day, the day after his birthday, June 17. Draco was just lolling around the Manor -- his father was at The Daily Prophet__ to straighten out a few things about the Sirius Black incident. As he sat in his father's study, reading Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century__, the boy heard a voice. It was the loveliest sound he had ever heard, like the ringing of thousands of silver bells at Christmas. And it was singing and humming, simultaneously, to a low, mournful tune, the kind he had never heard before. Draco stood up and dropped the book, mesmerised, and was led out of the study by the beautiful voice. _

_'The rosy-fingered goddess then,_

_Will roll away the night of the stars...'_

_Draco had suddenly found himself outside the house, in the forest, in fact. The sound was getting ever closer. Not knowing if he should, Draco followed the chant. Closer... Closer... That was it -- behind a bush -- the voice came from behind the bush. Draco hesitated before drawing aside the bush, to reveal a small, brown-haired figure wearing a blue dress, washing clothes by a pond. Who was that? __Draco wondered. He had never seen her before. He, in fact, had seen no human, other than his Mother and Father and old Mrs. Blume, the cook, at the Manor before. The person had her back to him, still humming the song as she knelt by the pool; unaware Draco was watching her. _

_'Soft but cohesive let my offerings flow,_

_Not roughly swift, nor impudently slow...'_

Draco, still slightly mesmerised by her voice, went over the bush and reached out a hand to touch her shoulder. 

_'Oh!' She had shouted in surprise, jumping to her feet and knocking a pile of clothes into the water. The girl turned swiftly around to face him, her face a mixture of anger, vigilance, and fear. 'Who are you?' _

_Draco__blinked out of his trance. What had he just done? 'Er, I'm Draco Malfoy,' he said, sounding rather disoriented as the remnants of the trance he'd been in slowly escaped him. 'Who are you?' he asked with genuine curiosity. _

_The girl, appearing to be about his age, breathed a sigh of relief, perhaps because by introducing himself Draco had proved he wasn't a madman on the warpath. But afterwards, she looked at him, a scared look in her huge coffee-coloured eyes. 'I'm Caitlin Somers, sir.' She said, curtsying politely, but quite cautiously. Draco stared. _

_'Why did you curtsy? You act like this is the 1800's.' Said Draco. 'Why haven't I seen you before? And what's with the "sir" thing?' _

_Caitlin Somers stared at her shoes. 'Well, you are a Malfoy, aren't you? The Malfoys are our masters,' she explained, her gaze still on the ground. _

_'Masters?' Asked Draco, puzzled. He took Caitlin's arm and led her to a nearby weeping willow, and sat her down. Caitlin obeyed as if she had no choice. She avoided looking Draco in the eye, her eyes directed to her hands, which were locked across her lap. Draco sat down with her. She looked both vulnerable and dignified at the same time, her dress lying in folds around her and her feet stretched out in front of her like those of a girl's china doll._

_'How do you mean?' He asked. Caitlin kept her eyes on her hands, and spoke in a neutral voice._

_'Have you not heard? The Somerses have been your servants for centuries. OK, er...' She tucked her hair behind her ear, 'Decades...' She smiled at him. 'Well, good day, Master Malfoy -- I suppose you want to leave now.' _

_Draco pretended to look hurt. 'You're saying you want me to leave?' He said. Caitlin laughed and nudged him with her arm. _

_'No, I just don't think you want to hear a bunch of sob-stories about some girl you don't even know.' Ah, good, he thought, she was actually using language fit for the nineteen hundreds. _

_'You're right, I don't,' said Draco thoughtfully. 'Perhaps you can tell me what this means.' He reached for the silver cross that hung on Caitlin's neck. He turned it around, seeing Ad Infinitum__ glitter up at him._

_'I thought your father had tutors teach you Latin,' she said. 'I heard mother talk about it once.' _

_'He did, but that was aeons ago.' It was fact, of course – each tutor had quit, saying Draco was being 'too stubborn'. He shuddered as what punishments he'd had to endure for that, then decided that such depressing thoughts were not to be courted at a time that gave him opposite sentiments. He looked at her. She was beautiful, he had to admit, rather pleased at having the indulgence of being around such a seemingly perfect person. Her wavy brown hair, which at the time she had worn in a braid, stretched to her waist, her posture, like his, was perfectly straight. 'So, what does this mean?' He asked absently. Her beauty was as mesmerising as her lovely voice. Caitlin smiled._

_'But it's so simple,' she said in a singsong voice. 'It just means 'endlessly', or something like that. "To infinity", I think.' She laid her head on Draco's shoulder, and he was taken aback. But he let that go and asked, 'What song were you singing, Caitlin?' Caitlin jerked her head back and stared at him. _

_'It was a song my Mum used to sing to me.' She said slowly. 'Why do you ask?' _

_Draco shrugged, wondering why someone's mother would sing a song with passions so clearly suggested in the lyrics. 'It was nice, I guess. See, I was inside and your voice kind of... Led me out here.' He shifted position ever so slightly so that his arm was pushed up against hers. In want of something else to say about the previous topic, he sought out another. 'Guess what yesterday was.' _

_'I don't know.'She gazed at the pond, which was reflecting the light of the burning sun. 'The day of the Allia disaster in Ancient Rome?'_

_Draco frowned – he'd known that, of course, and was startled someone else would and stick with the information so easily. Immediately this brought her forward in brilliancy before him, increasing his regard and endearing her to him. Sense was, above all things, most important to him in a girl, and to find that he had met one who possessed both was pleasing. 'My birthday.' _

_'Oh. Happy Birthday, then.' _

_Draco turned to her. 'You could sing me that song as a birthday present,' said he suggestively. _

_'You really want to hear it?' She asked. Draco nodded. She scrupled before saying, 'All right then.' _

_She began to sing. It was the same song, all right. _

'And where clandestine lovers lie

_Entangled in sweet passion's toils...'_

_Draco could feel himself being lulled into a soft sleep. ~_

Draco suddenly heard a knock on the compartment door, which brought him harshly back to reality, then looked up to see it slide open. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle walked in. They could hardly fit through the door, what with bodies the size of boulders. Draco looked pointedly at them, trying to hint that he wanted to be alone. Of course, Crabbe and Goyle were so thick that they didn't get what he was attempting to express until Draco said loudly; 'Could you guys get out of here for now?' No need to elaborate – they wouldn't _dare question him. Crabbe and Goyle were too doltish, too, to actually be hurt by the statement. They obeyed, of course. Draco didn't care in the least where they went -- besides, they could actually get a new compartment just by scaring away the old occupants. _

He was so preoccupied to notice that the train had already gone from the station, and that the Hogwarts Express was rolling past fields and pastures full of cattle. Draco turned his thoughts to Caitlin again. 

~ _When he woke up, Draco was still sitting with his back against the weeping willow in front of the pond. He looked down and saw that Caitlin had fallen asleep, her head on his lap, body curled up on the ground. He peered more closely at her milk-white face. She looked so peaceful when she was asleep, her eyes and rose mouth very partially open. Her right hand clutched his left arm possessively, like a child's teddy bear. Slowly, she began to wake up. She let go of Draco to stretch her arms above her head. Draco stayed silent, not wanting to disturb her. When she caught sight of him, she smiled sleepily and looked up at the sky. They must have been asleep for at least three hours, because it obviously wasn't noontime anymore -- the sun vanished from its overhead position, settling behind a few trees in the far west. _

_Draco suddenly remembered where he was supposed to be -- in his room, diligently reading Father's new book, like a good little Malfoy. He stood up wordlessly, and offered a hand to the still slightly sleepy Caitlin. She took it, getting groggily to her dainty feet. _

_'What's wrong?' She asked. Draco smiled and said, 'Well, I have to get back to the Manor now. My father will have a cow if he doesn't see me there.' This was characteristic of him to say._

_'All right then.' Her eyes crinkled into a small smile. 'Oh, and Draco?' She asked as Draco turned to go._

_'Yes?'_

_'Don't tell your father about this, all right?' She asked, her eyes pleading with him for something. Draco couldn't see why, and asked, 'How come?'_

_Caitlin scoffed. 'You know as well as I do that if your father sees me with you that he would have a fit.' _

_This unpleasant reminder of what his father would disapprove of broke into his euphoria. 'Oh, right. Well, I promise I won't. I'll see you around...?'_

_Caitlin rolled her pretty eyes. 'Of course I'll see you around -- you think I can go around here not seeing you when I know how good-looking you are?' She laughed. 'Just kidding.' _

_'What, about the good-looking part?' Draco smirked. _

_'Well, er, no, er, yes. Actually, I don't know.' Her gaze turned to the pond, where the clothes she was washing were still floating around. 'Oh, no! Mother will kill me!' Caitlin exclaimed. At least for her 'kill' was just a manner of speaking. She sighed and turned to Draco. 'You had better go now. Good-bye,' she said with a jaunty wave. _

_Draco set off, his robes getting tangled with a few bushes here and there, but finally managing to get to Malfoy Manor's front doors without much trouble. He called for a house-elf -- he never cared to find out what their names were -- to ask if the Master was home. Fortunately, the elf shook its little tea-cozied head no. Draco breathed a smile of relief and hurried up the winding, marble staircase to his huge bedroom. ~_

Draco sighed. Memories... The song popped into his head and he swatted it away. Draco missed her so much it was like having a constant stomach-ache. Still, upon recalling what happened that day, he was astounded at how friendly Caitlin had been. Not every girl would just let herself fall asleep on his arm like that. It was as if the two had known each other for years. 

He hated himself for letting her die. Perhaps he would have been able to persuade Lucius not to, had he been a little more clever. He hated himself, too, for having let the two of them get caught together in the first place. And, he thought, anger coursing through his veins, he hated himself for being a Malfoy, for being the son of the man that the Somerses were indebted to. 

Most of all, he hated himself for never having ever told Caitlin that he loved her. If one could imagine, Draco was reluctant to ever express what he felt through words, and Caitlin had had to contend with a kiss in place of an I-Love-You. 

Draco shook his head—_forget about it. His eyes filled involuntarily with tears and he wiped those away too. Looking outside, it was past noon, and not as hot. He slipped on his school robes, thinking that he might not have time to do so later. Standing up from his seat, Draco thought he might as well see what Potty, Weasel, and the Mudblood were doing. It was a yearly ritual for him to go bug them at the start of the school year.The boy swept down the corridor, his robes billowing behind him. _

Draco hesitated with his hand on the door. Was he going to be all right? Firstly, Crabbe and Goyle weren't there to hold Weasley off if he tried to get at Draco again. Second, nothing would stop the trio from hexing him like they had done at the end of fourth year. _I'll be all right, he thought, gripping his wand tighter in his pocket. He heard the Weasel's voice, and was sure it was his cue to come in. He slid open the cabin door, taking a very deep breath in the process. _

He looked in, and Weasley stopped his rambling. Sure enough, Harry Potter and his sidekicks were there, Weasley staring at him, Granger with her nose in a book, along with the Longbottom boy and a fair-haired one whose name Draco forgot. Shame-us, was it? Draco plastered a smirk on his face. 

'Look who it is,' he drawled, assuming a bored tone. 'The Potty, Weasel and Mudblood.' 

'You don't have your cronies with you -- that's a real miracle,' the Weasel spat angrily. 'What do YOU want, you slimy git?'

'Well, you wouldn't want me to break our annual ritual, would you?' Asked Draco coolly. He couldn't help but be proud, at least a little, that he was most able to face these matters with cool composure, most unlike Ronald Weasley. Noticing the other four hadn't said anything yet, he shifted his gaze to Potter and Granger -- and his jaw dropped open at the sight of her.

'_Caitlin?' _

***

Hermione sighed heavily. She was sitting in their usual compartment in the Hogwarts Express, situated, as always, between Harry and Ron. The boys, who included Neville and Seamus (who had joined them earlier), were talking on and on about Quidditch and Ron's new broomstick. 

And unwittingly boring Hermione out if her skull.

'Yes, wasn't that game fantastic? I almost didn't go, my Gram wouldn't let me at first, but Great Uncle Algie convinced her...'

'Prototype? Great! You know, I've been thinking about trying out for the team, too...'

'Well, I'm scheduling the try-outs a month or so before Quidditch season, so you can tell me if you want to go through with it...' 

'Blimey, Harry, I think we should start earlier, see if I can get the feel of this broom...'

Harry, taking his attentions from Quidditch for a moment, glanced at Hermione. 'Something wrong?' Hermione nearly swooned. Why did he have to be so sweet? And did he never tire of asking that question?

'As usual, nothing.' Hermione took out _Advanced Arithmancy from her carry-on. She waved a hand dismissively at Harry. 'Go on, I'm all right -- besides, I have to review Chapter 15 of this.' Harry shook his head._

'As you wish.' And he returned to his ramblings with Neville, Seamus and Ron. Just as the redhead was recounting the last game of the Previous year, in which Gryffindor, with Harry as captain, had won the Quidditch cup, someone far less welcome than the food-cart witch slid open the compartment door. __

Draco Malfoy stood there, his usual smirk in place. Hermione buried her face in her book -- she was tired of meddling with these arguments, had had enough of telling Harry and Ron that they would get in trouble. She tried to concentrate on the words on the page, but in her anger, agitation and annoyance, could not. 

'Well, look who it is. The Potty, Weasel, and Mudblood.' Hermione didn't want to tell off Malfoy for saying that dirty word, either. Besides, she was used to him calling her that; the word meant nothing to her. It was after all just an epithet used by pathetic, prejudiced wizards such as Draco Malfoy. For a moment the irony amused her, that a wizard who doubtless practised the Dark Arts and lacked common sense enough to be biased so towards a Muggle-born would think _her lower than __him. She felt Harry sigh heavily beside her and was gratified at the knowledge that Harry was tired of these encounters as well._

'You don't have your cronies with you -- that's a real miracle. What do you want, you slimy git?' said Ron. Hermione exasperatedly blew air through her teeth, but kept her eyes on her book. 

'You wouldn't want me to break our yearly ritual, would you?' Came Malfoy's drawl. He paused, and Hermione looked up, just in case she and Harry had to hold Ron off. When she did, her gaze met Malfoy's. Suddenly the smirk was wiped off his handsome face, to be replaced by one Hermione couldn't decipher. He was looking at her strangely, with his silver eyes as wide as saucers and his mouth open in an undignified way, as if he had seen a ghost. Hermione shook off the cliché (remembering, too, that that wasn't how Draco looked at the Bloody Baron). Suddenly, Malfoy uttered wildly:

'_Caitlin?' _

Hermione frowned at him. 'What _are you talking about, Malfoy?' She said angrily. She just wanted him to GO AWAY. 'This is Granger. You know, the MUDBLOOD?' she said, rather louder than she'd wanted, but not caring at all. Malfoy flinched at her last word. _

'B-but you look so much like her—Caitlin—' he muttered in a voice most unlike his sneering one. Harry, Neville, Seamus and Ron stared at him; Ron too astonished to make fun of this otherwise very comical moment. They had never heard Malfoy talk that way, so discomposed, before. Suddenly, Malfoy seemed to come to his senses and regained his composure. 

'Sorry,' he said with what Hermione would have termed utmost civility if it had not been Malfoy. 'You just look so much like her...' This came out a perturbed mumble, and his pale cheeks turned as pink as when Mad-Eye Moody had bounced him up and down. 

'Well I'm not her.' Hermione's eyes narrowed. 'What are you, Malfoy, suffering from a mental disease or something?' 

'That wouldn't be new, if he is.' Harry had found his voice. His fists clenched, he rose from his place beside the window and glared, most obviously annoyed, at the fair-haired boy. 'Get out of here, Malfoy.' 

Malfoy seemed not to hear him. Distractedly he frowned to himself, then, with eyes dazed unfocused, swept out of the compartment wordlessly. The sliding door closed behind him with a dull thud.

An uncomfortable silence ensued, which was broken hesitantly by Neville Longbottom. 'What was that about?' he asked. Seamus shrugged disinterestedly.

'Must have a few screws loose,' he said, biting into a Cauldron Cake. As he chewed, he looked over at Harry and Ron, who were still staring off thoughtfully into space. 'What's wrong with you?' Seamus asked through a mouthful of pasty. Harry and Ron seemed to jerk out of trances. 

'Nothing,' said Ron. 'Just thinking.'

'Yeah,' said Harry, 'who was that Kate person he kept garbling anyway?' 

'_Caitlin,' Hermione corrected automatically. Harry stared at her._

'Wait -- you _haven't been going down to Malfoy Manor over the summer pretending to be a Caitlin-person, have you?' _

Hermione choked on thin air. 'Harry!' she exclaimed. 'That's absurd! Honestly, you don't think --'

'No, really, have you been pretending to be someone?' His countenance was joking and his eyes amused, and Hermione knew and was gratified that he wasn't serious.

'No, _really.' She accepted the pastry Seamus handed her and slowly unwrapped it. 'And at Malfoy Manor, too -- that horrible place. I've heard all sorts of strange rumours about it.' _

'All right, then.' Harry bit into a Cauldron Cake that Neville offered him. He still looked thoughtful. 

Hermione sighed, then, as she 'read' _Advanced Arithmancy, pondered Harry's tone. He didn't sound too indifferent when Draco had, for once, spoken to her in a non-nasty way. She couldn't suppress a veiled little smile -- maybe Harry wasn't so uninterested after all._


End file.
